


III. It Doesn't Have To Be Real

by ecs



Series: It's a lonely, cold December in my heart. [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, OFC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:59:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecs/pseuds/ecs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>November mornings in Chicago are dark. They are dark and cold and almost entirely unpleasant. The only time when they are not unpleasant is when you have the warmth and protection of another human body curled up against you, to shield you from the wintry air that seeps in through the cracks of your windows. If you have this shield, this protection, then you are lucky. </p><p>Brandon wakes up and finds that yet again, he is not lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	III. It Doesn't Have To Be Real

**Author's Note:**

> I changed it to a more present tense viewpoint.

November mornings in Chicago are dark. They are dark and cold and almost entirely unpleasant. The only time when they are not unpleasant is when you have the warmth and protection of another human body curled up against you, to shield you from the wintry air that seeps in through the cracks of your windows. If you have this shield, this protection, then you are lucky. 

Brandon wakes up and finds that yet again, he is not lucky. 

The clock blinks "5:37" at him in large, red, unavoidable letters. It feels like, in some incomprehensible way, they are mocking him. He stares at the clock but it doesn't stop blinking at him and he eventually gives up. He rubs his eyes awake, hoping it will stimulate his brain as well. After a few minutes of lazy idling, he remembers that it is Saturday. Two things come to his mind. The first being that Hadley isn't at work - so where could she be? This is a gateway for the second thought - work... oh shit, I'm supposed to be at the gym by 7.

He stumbles out of bed and immediately reaches for his legs. They throb in pain but it they're not the only thing that hurts - his whole body is burning. Even the most basic things, like breathing, cause him pain. The only relief he can think of is a shower. Instinctually, he asks himself - will Hadley mind me showering here? It is a brief moment of thoughtful consideration - but it vanishes quicker than it came. It is replaced by something darker, something more spiteful - anger. To hell with what Hadley thinks. It is new for Brandon, at least in his feelings toward her, to be so angry. He tells himself that if she doesn't care about his feelings, then he won't care about hers. The anger brews inside him as he turns on the shower. Good, he thinks, be angry - don't let her walk all over you... you deserve to feel like this. The water comes down hard, bouncing off his skin as he tries to validate these new feelings. The water hurts but he doesn't abate it's intensity. He just stands there, letting the anger muddle in his chest, beneath the steaming faucet. 

Brandon shuts off the water and dries himself. He tells himself again that it is good to be angry. But without the relentless pelting of droplets on his back, it no longer feels good. It is not manly, it is not good, he realizes - it is childish. He can't manage to block those thoughts from his head, but he does manage to pretend for a little while that he doesn't care about Hadley and her feelings. 

The house is as empty as it was before Brandon showered. He can feel the disappointment creeping into the cages of his heart, but pretends it isn't there. It doesn't have to be real, he thinks, it doesn't have to be real. He shoves his stiff legs into a pair of shorts and pulls on the hem of his t-shirt until it pops over his head. He shuffles through his clothes, wondering where the hell he put his car keys. Still half-asleep with exhaustion tingling his muscles, it takes Brandon several moments to remember that his car is still parked at the arena, dead as a dog. 

There is a slight rise in his chest. It is the anger again, but this time it is quieter, much less severe. It comes but doesn't stay. In a place deep down, Brandon knows that it isn't her fault, but his. Also in this deep down place are his feelings for her, his true and honest feelings, that go beyond curiosity and late nights in the bedroom - the feelings that he has kept suppressed in miserable silence. Sometimes, when he is watching her, particularly when she is laughing, they crawl from the place deep down and perch on the tip of his tongue. His feelings bang against teeth, screaming at him to let them out. But he never does. He just swallows them, letting them slide back into the place deep down, where they live hidden, only half-alive. 

His fingers fumble through his bag once more. Instead of pulling out his keys, he gets a hold of his cell phone. He dials the numbers he's got memorized and it rings gently in his ear. He finds himself calling the only person who has a good enough soul to pick him up and risk the wrath that Captain Serious will unleash once they arrive at the fitness room, late for training. 

"Hello? Is that you Brandon?" Andrew's voice cuts the ringing off. He tries to conceal the surprise in his voice but Brandon can hear it. It is unmistakably there. When was the last time he had picked up the phone and talked to Andrew? Was it really that long ago, that it is now shocking to hear his voice on the other end of the telephone line? 

"Hey man," he says, hesitating to ask - suddenly afraid of the growing gap in their friendship.

"What's up?"

"So, I know this is a huge favor and don't feel obligated because I was a huge dick to you yesterday but can you please pick me up from my.... my friend's house? My car died yesterday and I di-" Brandon says rambling, the words tripping out of his mouth, making him sound crass and unintelligent. 

"Text me the address. I'll be there," Andrew cuts him off. His voice calm, cool, and collected - a sharp contrast to Brandon's elongated, irrational sentences. 

The phone line disconnects and Brandon texts him Hadley's address. He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling something that is a mixture of disgust and self-loathing. Of course Andrew will be there, he is always there. That's just the way he is built. Shawzy has a strong foundation, carved by the morals and values his parents raised him to abide by - he is a good guy, he is not Brandon. He sits on Hadley's bed, his head buried in his hands, and thinks of ways to be better. He thinks about his high school coach, now deceased, and how he would scream "Do better, be better" at them as they skated suicides. Start at the red line, go to the blue line, back to the red line, go to the center red line, back to the starting red line, go to the second blue line, back to the red line, go to the opposing red line, back to the red line - do it again - do better, be better. For a brief moment, the memory makes Brandon feel better. But then he remembers calling Coach Johnson's wife and piling on the excuses - I have a hockey game, you know how the rigid the schedule can be for a professional athlete, I don't think I can get a flight in time etc- followed by the words "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to the funeral, I'm sorry." 

A full year later and the guilt has not gone away, it has not even subsided. Can I be better? he asks himself. The answer to that question is easy. But how? The answer to that question is hard. How can he be better? He wasn't built like Andrew - not emotionally, not mentally. 

"(1) Andrew Shaw: Here" his phone lights up. He grabs his duffel and tosses it over his shoulder and heads out, getting one last glimpse of the house. It may be the last time he ever sees it. As much as he doesn't want it to, the thought makes his heart sink. Brandon forgets about the realm of that possibility when he sees Andrew in the driveway. He smiles and Andrew returns the favor, but his investment in the smile is only half of Brandon's. 

"Thanks so much, man. I know it's out of your way," Brandon says graciously, sliding into the front seat. Andrew waves it off and pulls out of the driveway in reverse. Brandon looks up at the house again and sighs. 

"You going to tell me about her?" Andrew asks, several minutes later. The question surprises Brandon and he is taken aback by how forward Shawzy is being. 

"You want to hear about her?" Brandon questions, unsure of whether or not Andrew actually cares. Given everything that has happened, Brandon assumes he doesn't. 

"I asked, didn't I?" Andrew replies, lightheartedly.

"Alright, where do I start? Her name is Hadley. She's 23, graduated from Harvard last year and moved from Connecticut to Chicago. We met at a bar. We've been togeth- seeing each other for about a month-ish. She's a great girl, you know, but there's something a little off. I can't quite put my finger on why things haven't been going well," Brandon says. He looks up at Andrew and waits for him to say something.

"Things haven't been going well or they haven't been going at all?" he finally asks, his voice even but not cold. His question has no intentions besides curious ones, but it rubs Brandon the wrong way. Do better, be better, he repeats to himself. He decides to the anger dissipate. 

"The latter. It's hard to explain," Brandon answers after giving it some thought, the frustration of not being able to align his feelings with his words bubbling inside his chest.

"Try to," Andrew encourages, his voice suddenly softer than before.

"I mean, you know me arguably better than anyone else does, Shawzy... and I don't get attached to girls. I'm easily bored. That's why I've never been in a serious relationship before. But with Hadley, it's different, you know? It's like I could watch her for hours on end. She's got this laugh and its a little too loud and it echoes a little too loudly, but it fits her. And when I see her laughing, sitting there on the coach with an old t-shirt on, I don't - I can't think about anything else. It feels like I am in some kind of trance around her, like she has me in the palm of her hand... but that's half the problem," Brandon says. When he looks up at Shawzy, he half expects him to be laughing but he isn't. He doesn't say anything but Brandon can tell he is paying attention. The silence is Andrew's way of telling Brandon to continue.

"She is mysterious. She leaves very early in the morning but doesn't say goodbye - like a one night stand that has been going on for weeks on end now. And that's not all. If you look at her long enough, which she almost never lets you do, she's got a sad look in her grey eyes. There is something I don't know, something that I can't figure out about her. But I want to. And I know I probably sound really stupid and you don't need to tell me that because I already know, but I fucking want to know. Not just to satisfy my curiosity but because I care. I care about her," Brandon says, breathlessly. He knows that nothing he is saying sounds graceful like the boys say in books and movies but he doesn't care. 

Andrew glances at him and nods understandingly, pulling into the gym's parking lot. They are a half an hour late to training, which is late enough to get upbraided by Toews. The car halts to a stop and Andrew kills the engine. Brandon waits for him to say something, anything at all. He starts to feel foolish for spilling his heart out to Shawzy. 

"What did you say her name was again? Hadley what?" Andrew asks, deep in thought. It almost seems like he is trying to pick his own brain, Brandon notes. 

"Hadley Sinclair," Brandon answers, a look of incredulity washing over his face. There were a thousand, better responses Andrew could've used but no, he decides to be ridiculously and unfairly vague, dismissing everything Brandon has worked so hard to spill out. He wants to regret telling Andrew but somehow, he can't.

There is a weight lifted from his shoulders - a weight Brandon didn't even know was there to start with. 

Brandon slides out of the car, letting the door unintentionally slam behind him. If Andrew has any reaction to this, he doesn't show it. He just follows Brandon into the gym and steers away from an angry Toews, whom Brandon makes the mistake of running into. Brandon is too busy being scolded by Toews to notice Andrew slip into Coach Q's office. 

~POV Andrew Shaw~

The door to the office is open but Andrew knocks anyway. 

Coach Q looks up from his desk. His hard, fatherly eyes only meet Andrew's briefly. 

"Come in" he says, flipping carelessly through the papers disheveled on his messy desk. "What can I do for you today, Shawzy?" Andrew slips into the office and shuts the door behind him. 

"You remember when we had that prospect a couple of years ago... back when I wasn't here... Sinclair was his last name? I've heard his name tossed around by the older guys. I was wondering if you could tell me why he quit?" Andrew asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. For some unknown reason, he feels uncomfortable asking Coach about the kid - almost like he is venturing into territory he doesn't belong in. 

Coach Q looks up again but this time, his eyes stay trained on Andrew's. He seems to be looking for the reasoning behind the curiosity. After a few moments, he gives up and leans back in his chair. 

"Why don't you take a seat, son?" he finally says, taking off his glasses and setting them on the cluttered desk.


End file.
